


This is the Tempest

by littlehuntress



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anachronistic, Golden Age of Piracy, Hurt/Comfort, Love at Sea, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pirate Code, Pirates, Slow Burn, Women & Piracy, castaway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehuntress/pseuds/littlehuntress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Famed Captain Arthur Pendragon has lost his crew, his ship and his hope is hanging by a thread, all he has left are sand and silence. A no man's land. But his indomitable spirit and conviction make him look for a way out, and perhaps one day he'll see those he lost again and find love on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic might contain anachronisms, and is a free adaptation of history and piracy facts.

  
  


The sun is a high point on the sky, Arthur has to shield away his eyes from the burning rays, his skin already feels like it's been rubbed raw, and his entire body aches in ways and places he never thought possible. He's lost track of time, can't remember if it was two days ago when he opened his eyes only to realize his crew was nowhere to be found and he was completely alone. Far away from the course he initially set for. Their voyage to Port Royal cut short by the fates of the troubled sea waters and the force of the inclement wind, its howling like a bad augury. The last thing he remembers is Leon's voice calling out to him, a choked sound quickly drowned by the storm hitting them head on. 

What he does remember is the cold water freezing him from inside out, sticking to him like prickly needles, not enough air entering his lungs, and then black. Emptiness. Everything disappeared, faded away. The noise, the voices, the thunder and lightning a mere dream. The melody of waves crashing against the shore returned him to his senses, his eyes opened slowly, stinging from the sudden burst of light. By then he was already alone. Lost in an island fit for a king with no land to rule. Arthur only wants his men by his side, even Gwaine's insistent talking would be a heaven sent in a place where even his own breathing is too loud. 

He closes his eyes, thinking bitterly about their loot, how they fought for it and it's probably lost to the bottom of the ocean. However this time Spanish gold is less important than the lives of the men under his command. Where are they? Why is he alone? They couldn't be...no, he shakes his head, drives away dark thoughts. His men know what they should do under these circumstances. They're quick on their feet, know how to swim, how to hold a sword, they've found their way out of more dangerous situations with only the clothes on their backs. They're seafarers. Bucaneers. One with the sea. 

Arthur stops his trek around the island, realizes he's been walking in circles. Again. The same palm trees and too hot sand everywhere he looks. It's endless. And if he were to keep his gaze up then he'd meet the sea, calm, serene, less ferocious than the wild animal guilty of the wreckage Arthur and his men suffered. He's parched, needs water, a drop would suffice. His lips are chapped, when he licks them he can taste the sea salt on them. He isn't sure how much longer will he be able to keep going before he gives into hopelessness. Into the madness of the ocean. 

But for as long as the sun rises tomorrow he vows he'll keep on walking.


	2. Ship to Wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ship on the distance, sailing with the horizon. Looks like salvation but Arthur can't trust his eyes. Salt water and sand can draw a mirage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a free adaptation of history and the golden age of piracy, anachronisms may be present.

The wind picks up caressing the sails and propelling them forward. The sun is almost hidden behind large, foreboding clouds, dark enough to swallow the light and turn the day into something dull and dreary. The sea below is getting angry, Arthur knows it won't be long before the skies are raging. They had managed to avoid the ships from the Royal Navy roaming the coast of Maracaibo. Barely turning away from a Spanish galleon, before it was too late. All thanks to Elyan catching sight of the ship from a distance. Arthur's trusted compass still on his grip after chanting directions for his crew mates. 

The object has begun to warm inside his hand, the carving of a dragon on the brass surface itches his palm. He pockets it before unwanted memories plague his mind. Seeing the sky turn a shade darker Arthur knows he has to stay alert. Keep his eyes open. He can smell a storm coming, a sharp aroma filling his nostrils, breeze right on the tip of his tongue. 

Their route and time is probably going to be affected by the rain, but Arthur's plans to keep them on route with as little damage to the ship as possible and with all of his crew as safe as they are now. 

"Captain." 

Arthur turns to see Gwaine grinning broadly at him, clutching a bottle of rum to his chest. He raises a questioning brow, wondering if it's just his imagination or the bottle's contents have begun to disappear.

"Shouldn't you save that for later?" 

"It wasn't just me. We had a celebratory drink."

Not his imagination then. He should be with the rest of them riding the same wave of enthusiasm after their success on the Spanish Main. Their stores replete with tobacco, sugar cane, spices, rum and cocoa. A medium sized coffer containing gold and gems is waiting to be divided between the crew. Everything went as it should have, without a hitch or man down. Except Arthur hasn't felt up to any kind of celebration lately. His mood goes from forlorn to apathetic rapidly. The memory of losing his father still hangs heavy over him. As does his promise to honor his memory

"You should have waited for me, I'm your captain," he says, trying to sound like his old self. Sure of himself. If he fails at his attempt Gwaine doesn't mention it. 

"Aye, aye. You coming then, Captain?" 

Arthur wants to say yes, have a bit of fun listening to Gwaine's never ending tirade. Listen to the crew laugh because they're a bit more richer and maybe one day they'll be free to settle down on land. No more pillaging and fighting for one's neck.

"Have you looked at the sky?" He asks instead. 

Gwaine's gaze sharpens, he licks his lips leaving the bottle on the deck's flat surface. "Rain is coming." 

Arthur nods, feeling the first drop land between his eyes.

:::

The ship shakes and quakes, the clouds overhead are dark, pregnant with water. Everyone is soaked, clothes stuck to their bodies. Arthur tries not to shiver but it's impossible when the freezing waters of the ocean are conspiring with the rain to drag them under.

"Avast!" 

Thunder roars loudly, and his vision is clouded by the fast falling rain. Out of the corner of his eye he can barely make out Percy and Lance trying to keep the sails in position. He's lost sight of Elyan and Gwaine. He's trying to find them when an ever louder roar comes through, it's so heavy Arthur hears it right inside his ears, he's busy shaking away the sound, blinking away water he doesn't hear Leon's warning shouts before it's too late. 

"Captain! Captain! _Arthur_ , look out!"

:::

He coughs up salty water, spits out blood. His left hand fingers hurt when he flexes and groans in pain. Coarse grains of sand beneath him, scratching his skin, his body swaying with the tide. The last thing he remembers is darkness. Black, black everywhere. Pulling him underwater.

But this is air entering his lungs, the first light of dawn welcoming him to the other side. No, this isn't heaven, this is dry land. He's alive. 

He wants to get up to asses the situation. Find out where he is and how he can get out. His movements are sluggish, taking him more than a few tries to stand on his legs, albeit shakily. He scans his surroundings little by little, palms and infinite sand are discovered. Nothing else. He's trapped in a paradise.

Arthut breathes in the morning air, a keen pain on his side digging in. In spite of the ache this the best feeling in the world. 

He's still alive.

:::

Arthur is alone. He failed them. His crew is gone. When he closes his eyes he can see them being devoured by the angry sea under the will of a capricious God.

He failed them.

:::

Nightmares are a constant reminder of his failure, of the emptiness surrounding him. Lurk inside his head like shadows, silent, dangerous. His attempts of getting out of this god forsaken island have been fruitless, he's afraid to venture too far away from the shore. It's not cowardice but a survival instinct. His ribs hurt when he moves, the bruises on his skin are turning purple with shades of green. At least they don't look as black as they did before.

Arthur is thinking of going to search for water again—the only good thing he found was a stream of fresh water, a bit of hope among the loss—when he notices something he never thought he would see again on the coast. A ship. 

He almost leaps up, ready to run and swim and hold onto something. Almost. He laughs, a bitter hollow sound. He's seeing things. Wishful thinking. His fatigued mind playing tricks on him. 

But then he's feeling the end point of a sword stuck to his back. His breath quickens. His limbs aching to move and remove the threat. He's done it before. 

"Who are you?" 

It's a soft but commanding voice. Makes him feel safer, like this is not the end for him. 

A pair of brown eyes, fierce and warm meet his own when he turns his head. Bronze skin, dark curls hidden under a hat, her hold on the sword confident.


	3. There Once Was a Pirate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pirate code says when you're captured by a ship you either join them or die. Arthur isn't sure what his options are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of real life pirates.

  
  


His father's words ring in his ears, his rules and warnings clear as the fresh water he can't stop drinking straight from a jug someone handed him. His father often spoke of the dangers of bringing a woman on board. The bad luck it brought to everyone aboard the ship. Arthur knows he blamed himself for his mother's death after giving birth to Arthur at sea and even more than that, he blamed the woman who couldn't save his wife despite of having the power to do so. Despite his father's demands. Arthur's heard the story too many times to count, his mind filled with memories that don't belong to him. When he was old enough to come along with his father on his journeys and they set sail with the wind blowing in the right direction, Morgana had to stay behind. Alone in a house excessively big for a girl waiting for her family to come back to her. Merely because she was a woman, a harbinger of destruction. 

Arthur only wonders what he would say about Gwen. Captain Gwen if he wants to be exact, commanding every man and woman aboard her ship. The Sea's Diamond. Uther would disapprove wholeheartedly. He certainly had strong opinions about Grace O'Malley. 

He had strong, unwavering opinions about pirates at large. Uther would disapprove if he could see him now.

As it is Arthur is counting on his lucky stars. There haven't been any talks of corporal punishment or forced labor, and Gwen keeps looking at him like she's trying to figure out what course of action is the right one to take. Like she's seeing something he isn't. 

She might look sweet but Arthur can already tell she's as fierce and brave as any of his men. You should never underestimate someone brandishing a sword. 

They're keeping him out on the deck, sitting on the wood, body limp as if he's given up on standing up, but no one mentions his situation. Instead he sees captain Gwen whispering to a girl she earlier called Freya. They're both shooting quick pointed glances at him, before turning to the other. The rest of her crew stays back, keep up with their chores but stay alert to whatever Gwen might say. 

Gwen shakes her head, curls bouncing with the movement. She stops right in front of him, cuffed boots dragging. She sighs, a long sad poof of air. Arthur waits, downing the rest of the water on the jug not caring if it's the last ration he will receive. It feels good, fresh in his mouth. Cool drips dribbling down his chin. 

"Are you really Arthur Pendragon?" Her words are careful, probing. 

Arthur opens his mouth, closes it before any sound can make it out. Whatever he says is the difference between being alive and sinking down the ocean like a heavy chest full of rocks. 

"Why?" 

"I don't think he's in the position to be askin' questions," someone shouts behind Gwen. She holds up her palm effectively stopping the voices begging to riot. It's to be admired.

"Shall I ask you again? I've been nothing but understanding of your situation, I brought you back to my ship not as a prisoner but as a comrade. One of the brethren. Please, I need to know," she says falling out of breath, eyes tired and lips down turned. 

Arthur sits back up. "But the code-" 

She chuckles, gives him a smile he wasn't expecting. "We all have different versions of the same rules, don't we? In our ships the Captain's words _are_ the real rules. Nobody has told Roberts what to do, have they?" 

He shakes his head, knowing that while the code is something every pirate and buccaneer must abide to, the last word of what goes on the ship is the captain's. He's carried on his father's legacy. On his rules. The ones he memorized since he was a child.

"Yes. I am." 

"Pardon?" 

"I am Arthur Pendragon, Captain of the Avalon." 

"How can I be sure of your words?" Gwen still has her guard up and he doesn't blame her, you never get too far if you trust blindly every stranger you meet. 

He searches around the pockets of his torn clothes, glad at least this survived along with him. He takes the small object out, dangling it in the air. He hears Gwen's sharp gasp. Murmurs around them. Freya's eyes are huge in surprise.

"The draconis compass. It's true. It's real and- You're here." 

"I suppose I am. Thanks to you." 

"No, you don't understand. I've been looking for you everywhere. You're a tough one to find." 

"Why-" 

"My brother, Elyan, I don't know where he is and last I heard he was part of the Pendragon crew. Someone saw him in the shores of Tortuga getting off the Avalon." 

Gwen's words rush together, rise and fall with joy and bewilderment. Her eyes too bright and Arthur can't look at her, doesn't deserve to be shown kindness. As soon as he heard Elyan's name his heart sank. 

"Please, I need to know if this is true." 

She begs, asks and Arthur wishes he hadn't drank the water because he needs to wash down the bitterness invading his taste buds.

"I must tell you something," he begins, swallows, looks at a point lost in the blueness of the ocean, "it's true, Elyan was with us, but there was a storm and...I don't remember what happened. I woke up alone." He hangs his head in shame as he watches the spark of hope die in Gwen's eyes.

She probably knew something was up. Soon realizes the possibilities of what his words mean since her crew roamed the island to find nothing but sand and Arthur. But hope is the last to die when it's about family and those who you love. Arthur knows. You never give up the fight. Not easily. 

Elyan was brave, his men were worthy, they all would've given their lives for him without a second thought. They always threw themselves into battle like the world was ending. And now he must face the fact they're gone and he never thanked them like he should've for their loyalty. He should've done more for them. Kept them safe.

Everyone in the ship is quiet, too quiet like when you're trying to appease the gods or you have reached troubled waters and you don't want to wake up evil. Like when every light has burned out at night. 

"Right. I'll take you to your cabin. Have the medic examine those wounds." 

Gwen walks away, not looking back to see if he follows but he still gets up and does. Puzzled over what Gwen might be thinking. Everyone else sets in motion around them as they pass, the spell lifted.

There are things you can't change no matter how much you want to.


	4. Pull Me Out the Water, Cold and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His visible wounds are superficial, but the ones buried inside him can't be mended with alcohol and herbs, not even if the person providing a cure for sore bones has the deepest eyes he has even seen.

  
  


Gwen's and his own footsteps are too loud. Booming. The ship's wooden surface creaks beneath them, it smells like saltpeter and wet wood, tastes of crystallized salt and iron. There is a twinge between his rib cage, something which digs so deep Arthur finds it hard to breathe.

The silence crawling around them isn't uncomfortable, but it isn't a comfortable one either. It's the kind of wordless void you encounter when grief hangs above you and you're doing everything in your power to avoid its presence. To keep the pressure on your chest at bay. And yet Arthur can see the weight of sadness on Gwen, on the way her steps falter and how she opens her mouth but only air comes out, a sob stuck somewhere between her stomach and throat. Arthur admires the way she's still standing. The way she makes her feet move like her world keeps turning the same way and with the certainty the sun will come out day after day and will rise over the horizon. 

Gwen stops suddenly, her face turned towards him, eyes searching for something he can't give her. He doubts he ever will be able to. 

Her hand is poised over the door, when she says, "Did Elyan...did he..."

Gwen doesn't finish her questioning, snaps her mouth shut like her words are something dangerous, forbidden. She looks more troubled than Arthur has seen her since he set foot on her ship. Perhaps a bit tired. 

"I'm sure he misses you." 

Arthur avoids the past tense, forgets the last time he saw his face and instead sees the corners of Gwen's mouth lift trying to form a smile. She just nods and opens the door. 

Eventually they'll both have to face what happened that night. 

Arthur is shown to small cabin near the front of the ship where the rest of the crew's quarters are. It's way too small if he compares it with his previous one, and is stripped of any sort of luxury. Gwen waves her hand around the space as if to show him around but there's not much to see. Her footsteps echo around them and Arthur still has the urge to apologize to her. But he isn't sure being sorry about Elyan's fate is enough for both of them. After muttering a few things about the ship's rules Gwen asks him for how long he was trapped on the island and not receiving a satisfactory answer she laughs but without a hint of the mirth he now knows she's capable of. 

Then she brings someone in, a gangly guy with messy dark hair and blue eyes. Arthur wasn't aware he was waiting outside until the moments he steps into his field of vision, chewing on his bottom lip, a medical chest safely tucked on his arms. He's probably wondering what to make of him, of this messy, dirty Arthur Pendragon who looks nothing like the tales tell. He's aware his stay on the _Diamond_ can't remain a secret forever. Before long he'll be answering questions he'd rather not hear.

"This is Merlin, he'll help you with your wounds. If you don't mind I would like to have a talk with you tomorrow. I want to know what happened to...my brother. I want to hear everything," Gwen says, the word 'everything' underlined. 

There it is, the moment he saw coming since he learned Elyan is her brother, her silence before had only bought them a bit of time until they faced the inevitable. Arthur nods, can't say no to her request. He wouldn't. Gwen slips away silently, leaving him to his own devices. 

The guy, Merlin, he tries to remember, gestures towards the small table with only one chair in the middle of the room. It takes up almost half of the space. He puts down the chest and looks inside it, hands searching for something. Arthur sits down. Merlin doesn't look at him. A frown appears on his face taking out scissors, a mortar and a clout, placing them on the table.

"Give me your hand," he instructs with no preamble. 

Arthur does as instructed, his knuckles are bloodied, dirt under his fingernails and stuck to his skin. He can still feel the coarse sand itching his skin, rubbing it red. 

"Are you positive you can do this, you seem a bit..." Arthur waves his hand around, searching for a perfect way to describe what he means to say. "Is there someone else who could-maybe heal me?" 

Merlin's head shoots up, he narrows his eyes dangerously, looking at Arthur like he just slapped him. Arthur doesn't look away, stupefied by such defiant eyes. Merlin pours what clearly is a bottle of rum over his hand, and cleans the blood and dirt and sand with the clout, pouring more alcohol over open wounds. Arthur hisses at the burn. Grinds his teeth. 

"You could've warned me." 

"I thought you were a tough man of the sea." 

Arthur stares at him in disbelief, no one in his entire life has spoken to him like that. Merlin works dutifully, patching him up in record time, putting ointments on the more superficial wounds. Grinding what look like roots of blessed thistle to him in the mortar. Applying the mixture on each of his wounds rewarding him with relief. 

"What..." Arthur mutters, still watching every move Merlin makes, the way he measures and mixes. How he knows exactly how to cure Arthur's wounds and pains, at least the ones that bleed and will scar with time. Arthur is sure the cure for maladies of the soul isn't inside Merlin's chest. Such a thing can't be found between jars of rosemary and juniper. 

"You think you can avoid doing something reckless or stupid or both for a while? You might want to avoid chafing and infections," Merlin tells him. 

"You don't even know me, why would you assume I act like an idiot?" Arthur asks affronted, not even sure why Merlin has taken such unexpected dislike of him in such little time. 

"Well, you don't look as who would sit while the rest are up and about. Even if you need to take it easy like you do now." Merlin kneels beside him, lifts the rags he used to call clothes and cleans the wounds above his ribs. 

Arthur wants to protest but finds he doesn't have the power to, his tiredness making itself known. The heaviness on his bones is dull. 

"There. You'll live, _Captain_ ," he says as he finishes patching him up. "Sleep. Just try not to rest on your sides." 

Merlin marches out of the cabin without so much as a glance back after he cleans up and puts his things back inside the chest. Arthur remains glued to his seat, mouth agape, wondering if being here, in this ship is a good or a bad thing.


	5. We’re Passing Ships in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur never needed anyone to take care of him while sick, but that was before.

  
  


Sleep won't come easy for him, ghosts and shadows swiftly invade his dreams and by morning Arthur feels the repercussions of a night spent with eyes open, focusing way too much on the rough material of the thin sheet covering his body to repel the voice calling out his name in desperation. The crisp smell of the ocean is very strong, percolates through the tiny window above his bed. The ship sways, moves forward towards an unknown destination. For the first time of his life he doesn't know where he is, and the situation is completely out of his hands. He's at the mercy of another pirate, of another captain, of a crew he knows nothing about. 

He experiences the same helplessness he felt the night of the storm. Right at the moment when he saw the sky was set on bringing its fury down on them and he knew he could do nothing to stop it. 

Arthur's thoughts run amok until the first light of day. 

When the sun filters in he begins doubting his ability to stand on his own two feet and leave the cabin—which now has been loaned to him for however long Gwen plans on keeping him on board—and face the day. But he feels the obligation to do so, even when his body is rippled by tremors. Arthur wasn't raised to be holed up, he's strong. He's well aware of the fact he has to push through and eventually have that talk he owes to Gwen. She deserves to ask and get answers about her brother, even if Arthur himself doesn't remember a lot about the last moments they spent in each other's company. 

He tries to stand up only to fall back down and finds he is unable to leave the bed. His breath is coming out shallow, his throat feels rough and his eyes are watery and red. This time every ache is physical. He tries to get up again and again, but his agility has abandoned him and moving doesn't come easy to him. Everything around him spins, and if he were a newbie to the life of the sea then he could blame it on seasickness. But no, not him. He was born on a ship and he will die on a ship. 

Although this is too soon, he can't go. Not yet. 

He laughs at the irony of the situation, ends up coughing, embracing his middle and falling completely on the cot he called bed for the night. Maybe the sea _is_ ready to claim him too, to take him back to his crew. 

The world is moving too fast, topples over, goes black.

:::

It takes Arthur a few tries of blinking and passing air though his nose to bring his world to lucidity. Then he hears voices, two distinctive tones speaking softly. Hushed. Whispering. He strains to hear but can't catch a single word, but if his ears don't deceive him Gwen is there in the room, talking with someone who's crouching next to his bed. Arthur is positive he's heard the second voice before too.

It isn't until he blinks the tears from his eyes and some of the heaviness away he can place a face to the voice. Merlin. 

"What? Why are you here?" He croaks out. His mouth parchment dry. Lips cracked. 

He sees out of the corner of his eye Gwen moving closer. Merlin stares at him, if the way his eyebrows raise towards his hairline like he's demented, then Arthur must look awful. Even worse than he imagined. 

"Someone got themselves sick," Merlin answers. Behind them Gwen snorts. 

"I guess by someone you mean me." Each word hurts, burns as it comes out. He does feels rather ill, hot and tired and drowsy and...Merlin still has the bluest eyes he's ever seen. His cold hand feels good against his clammy skin.

"How are you feeling?" 

Arthur tries to focus on Gwen but fails. He's been doing that a lot lately. "Awful."

"You show it. When you didn't make it out to the deck I figured there must be something wrong. You don't give me the impression of being the kind of man who would throw themselves overboard to run-or well, swim away from unexpected happenings."

He can hear the humor she's trying to imbue into her words and he's thankful. "I tried."

For a moment the heaviness on his chest is not caused by the maladies he's suffering from.

"We always have more time," Gwen says, hesitates but doesn't add anything else. Arthur has come to find silence is their middle ground. 

"You can go if you need to. I can take care of him," Merlin offers, and even in his state Arthur is surprised, even more so when Merlin applies something to his forehead that is almost magical because the heat in his body doesn't feel as oppressive as before. 

Gwen walks over to the door, but stops, hesitating. "Are you absolutely sure? I do have a few things to sort out but if you don't want-" 

"Yes, I'm certain. I'm a miracle worker, remember? If I stay here he'll be out of the woods faster." Merlin smiles all big and warm and Arthur thinks this is the first time he's seeing one of those. After meeting him the day before, he couldn't have imagined he was even capable of such niceties. 

"You've convinced me. I'll leave you to it then, just forego the bloodletting." 

Gwen's words ring in his ears after she leaves. Arthur imagines leeches stuck to his skin and he shudders not completely sure if it's because of the visuals or the illness. 

"Don't worry. I've never been too keen on the method. I trust my herbs more," Merlin says, working on a vial he's shaking from hand to hand. 

"What happened to me?" He asks, and his questions has so many meanings Merlin gives him the only answer he can. 

"Probably exhaustion," Merlin replies. "I was surprised you could even stand yesterday."

"Yes, I was too if I'm being honest. Everything _hurts_."

"You should stop talking then. Get some rest, but drink some water first. You need it." 

Arthur does as he's told, guiding the cup of water he was offered to his lips with Merlin's help. He hadn't noticed his hands were shaking until that very moment, when Merlin's hand landed on top of his own and they stayed stuck together until Arthur drank the last drop of cool water. 

"Thank you."

Merlin gives him an odd look. Shakes his head and gives him the vial he had in his hands before. Arthur downs its contents in one go. "Will I be better now?"

"Maybe. If you do follow my instructions from before."

"I will."

Arthur falls asleep with a taste of honey and peppermint on his tongue, the feeling of soaked washcloths being applied to his forehead and Merlin's eyes never straying from him.


	6. Like Islands in the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is a complete mystery to Arthur.

  
  


In the morning Arthur's headache recedes. Everything has cleared. His body still hurts, a twinge of discomfort as he moves, but he's well rested, feels better than he's felt in days. Even his mood has improved, his spirits lifted. Something changed overnight. He's decided he's going to face the day. If there is even the remote chance his men survived like he did, then he's going to chase after it. People in the islands near by must have heard something, local talk of misfortune and sunken ships always reach the right ears. It is possible the remains of their wreckage have been found. And if that's the case, if they went down with the Avalon then he's going to spend the rest of his life remembering each and every single one of them. His men. All with the same loyalty they showed him every time the set sail towards a new world. 

He's lying on his bed, staring at the shapes on the ceiling, pondering whether Gwen would agree to leave him ashore once they reach dry land or not. He's leaning towards a positive answer when there's a knock on the door. 

Arthur sits up, looks towards the door as if he can tell who's behind by staring at it long enough. "Come in," he rasps out, sleep clinging to him. He doesn't expect to see Merlin. The sun is barely rising over the horizon and he's already awake. 

He nods when he steps inside, Merlin looks tired not nearly as rested as Arthur feels and he suspects he's the culprit behind the dark circles around Merlin's eyes. 

Last night his fever addled mind prevented him from being coherent and alert. He remembers no more than bits and pieces of the evening. Merlin checking up on him every couple of hours, humming in satisfaction as the fever began to go down. Arthur speaking nonsense and Merlin lending him his ear. Merlin speaking, voice mellow, his hands cold to the touch and Arthur eventually fell asleep surrendering to his tiredness. He doesn't know at what time Merlin finally left him on his own. 

Arthur watches every movement Merlin makes. He moves around the small cabin with the easiness of someone who knows their surroundings. He leaves a plate of food and a metal jug on top of the table and Arthur immediately wants to reach for it. Craves fresh water more than anything. He could probably drink the entire sea if it were possible. Nonetheless he stays put.

"Here. You could use these," Merlin says, walking closer to him. He sets a pair of breeches, a tunic and boots in a much better state than the ones Arthur owns. They're sadly on the floor, torn and dirty they can't even be called boots anymore. "And Gwen asked to see you once you're ready."

Arthur is taken aback, stares at Merlin and then at the clothes, then back at him again. "You know, I can't figure you out," he declares. 

Merlin stands up straight crossing his arms. "Huh. Is that so?" 

"Yes, one day you come trudging in here lacking tact and then--you take care of me all through the night. And now you even bring me clothes," Arthur elaborates, watches how Merlin shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Sighs. His arms dropping to his sides like he's defeated.

"I'll admit I was a bit...ill-mannered," Merlin begins, Arthur's eyes widen in disbelief. "Fine more than a bit. But you have to admit you were a prejudiced prat when we met." 

Arthur scoffs, offended by the accusations. "I was not."

"You really were. I mean, if you tell the person who's about to examine you and possibly heal you wounds if there is someone else available to do the job, it's because you don't trust them. I don't like being considered the lesser choice."

And fine, Arthur does get it now. He might have been rude, but it's not like Merlin was any better. He slumps against the wall. "I apologize if I caused you any grievances. I'm not used to seeing someone so young as yourself being the one in charge of the health of an entire crew."

This time Merlin smiles, and what sounds a lot like laughter comes out from between his lips. He shakes his head and moves a bit forward, Arthur thinks he's about to sit on the bed next to him, but chooses the chair he left last night close to the bed instead. "I think I understand. When people see me board or leave the ship they infer I'm the swabbie." Merlin rolls his eyes in a good-natured way. "I learned what I know from the best. I can cure almost any ailment."

"I believe you. I feel better now. A new man," he says, opening his arms wide presenting himself, showing he's well on his way to recovery. 

Merlin snickers. "You might be. Yet I think you're in dire need of a bath and a change of clothes."

"Excuse me, are you insinuating I look terrible?" 

"No, I wouldn't say terrible. I think the appropriate word for this case is ghastly." 

Arthur finds himself smiling, his chest no longer tight every time he breathes. Finds it easy to answer, "You do need to work in your bedside manner, or else your patients are going to hide from you."

"Are you calling yourself my patient?"

"Maybe. We'll see if I make it to the night."

Merlin hums, picking at a lose thread on his breeches. "I'm thinking you're not as bad as I initially thought."

"No? That's a relief," Arthur responds, throwing himself back down on the bed. Notices the sun has fully risen. 

"Or maybe I have been right all along and you're manipulating me into believing you're an affable man," Melin says pensively, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

"I would never do such a thing. Captain's honor." Arthur brings his palm to his chest, right above his heart, and it might have been an action done in jest, but he actually means it. His honor, his words are what he has left. What Arthur can offer. 

"Very well, Captain. I'll have to trust you on this one."

"You do that."

Silence falls on them, Arthur moves around, goes to lay on his side and peers at Merlin. He's quiet, pensive. Lips parted. Arthur has the sudden need to understand him.

"By the way, thank you for last night," he mutters. 

Merlin shakes his head vehemently. "No need. It was my duty."

"I don't mean the medicine. I meant your words."

"Oh, that. You remember. I thought you were completely gone."

"Not everything but enough. I guess you were right about moving forward."

Merlin practically beams, a pleased expression taking over his features. 

Arthur is completely absorbed in Merlin he forgets about meeting Gwen until someone else knocks on the door and Freya walks in before he has a chance to reply. 

"I think I better take my leave." Merlin says standing up, greets Freya when they meet halfway into the cabin. Arthur almost wants to ask him to stay. He pauses at the door. "I'll be seeing you." 

Possibly the days to come won't be as dreadful as he had feared.


	7. Of Indomitable Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sea is all Arthur has ever know, his kingdom, his home. Both beautiful and deadly.

There are creases and folds on the map spread across the desk, obvious signs of its use. Well traveled like its owner. Traces of old journeys and hidden lands ready to be discovered marked up. Arthur follows Gwen's forefinger sliding over the illustrations, she keeps circling around the Atlantic, bordering the Antilles. He finally told her about the storm, spun a story from blurry memories and sensations rooted in his body. 

"In about two weeks we'll reach Kingston," she says staring straight at him. She stands tall, fierce and resolute. She has hope, she believes. Gwen wants to find her brother and it's possible she will sail from point to point, east and west for any clue. For the sight of his open arms giving her family back. 

Arthur can't relate. He never lost someone to life, only to death. 

At a certain age you understand death is inescapable. Doesn't make things easier, but at least you're aware of death's inescapability . 

Arthur nods, feeling cold all over, unable to join her in the enthusiasm she displayed once she learned of his plight. He's not proud of getting separated from his men. His father always told him a captain goes down with his ship. Can't really stop the images of blood washing the shores. Salty red. Bodies drowned. 

He looks around her cabin, conch shells on the desk and on the windowsill, a compass, two oak chairs, a small plain wardrobe, and a slightly larger bed than the one in his own room pushed against the wall. The sheets and charcoal colored drapery touching the--by the looks of it--newly scrubbed floor. 

It feels lived in. A place to retire when one wants to be alone with their thoughts. 

He swallows before he says something about his ship, his former life. Before he says he misses everything. "I didn't know we were sailing towards Jamaica."

Gwen folds the map following the patterns already there on the parchment. She hums, focused in her task. The map becoming a small piece of something larger held between her hands when she's done. "Of course you didn't," she answers. He lifts an eyebrow making her laugh. Hope definitely turns her into someone else. Less weary, more inclined to laugh at him or with him. Arthur can't decide which one. "I didn't meant it like that, I'm starting to trust you and I see no reason why I should hold you prisoner or something equally...Upsetting. You've spent most of your time in this ship unconscious or sickly. You probably couldn't tell if the sun was truly rising on the horizon. How would you know we're in the Caribbean still?"

"You're right," he admits, "Besides, I'm nothing more than a guest. I don't pretend to be the one steering us. You are the captain and you make the decisions," he says earnestly. "I was only thinking, if we're in Jamaica, then--"

"We could ask around?"

He nods. He can expect. Wait to come across the information they both need. 

"Before we found you Jamaica was already on our course. I got a meeting with a merchant from the West Indies."

"Trade business?"

"We all need some basics to survive."

Arthur couldn't agree more. Between avoiding the Royal Navy and enemy buccaneers you have to make allies, connections. People who will provide once you're back on land. Those eager to call themselves your friend and who will get drunk with you on the best rum they can afford. You can't always rely on finding a loot. In every port and safe harbor you find those willing to help in exchange for golden and silver coins. Shinning jewelry. Pearls, emeralds and diamonds. Everyone is after a treasure of their own. 

A soft knock carries inside the room, stopping Arthur from asking more about this merchant they're to meet. It's not his business anyway. 

"Come in," Gwen calls out. Her smile permanent. 

A tall girl with a kind face and alert eyes opens the door, pokes her head in. Dark hair falling over her shoulders. 

"Arthur this is Mithian, she'll take you to the deck and go over your daily duties with you," Gwen explains, nodding her head towards the girl. Mithian hangs onto the door, gaze flickering between Arthur and Gwen like she's trying to figure out something. 

"My duties?" He asks doubtful. 

Gwen gives him this upturn of her lips, that if he knew her a bit better he would know it means she's being serious and he better listen. "What? You thought this was absolutely free?" She jokes. 

"No, of course not," he rushes out shaking his head vigorously. "I'll just--" He stands up, waving his hands around. Mithian steps back letting the door fall open. 

"Don't worry. We the crew believe in cooperation. We won't abuse you. I consider you to be a good and kind man, Arthur Pendragon," Gwen says. 

He stops, remembers Merlin's words. 

What kind of man exactly does the world thinks he is? 

 

Arthur soon learns Mithian is the boatswain. The one in charge of the maintenance of the ship. The deck's activities under her orders. Along with Freya they help Gwen in keeping the vessel in optimal conditions. He's impressed. She stops her explanations to instruct a man called Ewan to check the hull. He runs to do just that. 

She's a sweet and smart girl who can command with the expertise and self-assuredness of someone who knows what they are doing. "Captain," she begins, the title sounds different coming from her, less mocking than Merlin and not in acknowledgment as Gwen. But almost playful, as if his presence doesn't intimidate her. He's another sailor for her. 

"Call me Arthur. I can't be a captain without a ship," he says, the words bitter on his tongue, rolling with difficulty. 

She laughs. " _Arthur_. Gwen asked me to instruct you what it is we expect from you. One, we're equals," she says back to the serious tone she had used on Ewan. He nods, it's only sensible. Equal vote, equal voices. The same applied for him and his crew. "Two, don't ever steal from a mate. Three, respect the curfew. Four, should conflict arise between you and another, you shall end the quarrel on land and only there. There's no fighting on the ship. Five, we always stand together and last, don't bring your conquests aboard. Lovers stay on shore."

Arthur finds no reason to argue. This crew is welcoming him and the rules are similar to his own. "There'll be no problem with that. And my duties? Gwen spoke of those."

"Right. A couple of week's ago we lost our master gunner, we've all had to pitch in. And seeing as you are here...Think you can handle the guns and ammunition?"

He can. Asides from being able to read the skies and interpret maps, Arthur knows about weapons. His father covered every front to make him the man he wanted him to be. Powerful and respected. 

"I can. I will," he says steadily. "What happened to your master gunner?" Curiosity getting the best of him. 

She shrugs. "Helios didn't agree with our beliefs. He's probably living as he wants on some remote island where he can rule." Her eyes fix on the vast blue surrounding them from side to side. Their hair blowing with a sudden gust of wind coming from the sea. He takes a deep breath, seaweed and breeze. Salt sticking to his lips. His love for the sea can't be dwindled. Even when it roars and turns wild, it's a breathtaking sight. 

He thinks of the beauty of the coral reefs, rocky shores and the tide rising under the moonlight. The allure of the ocean, stunning and magnificent. 

The sound of loud footsteps, running and laughter break the calmness of the afternoon. He turns around at the same time Mithian does, her smile grows bigger as she sees Merlin and Freya scuffling. Fighting for something Merlin is trying to pry from her hands. "They're so silly sometimes. Acting like children."

"Hey!" Mithian shouts grabbing their attention. Mithian joins them in two strides, obviously on Freya's side. Mithian runs away with the object as she catches it after an impressive throw from Freya. 

He looks at them for a while longer. Their voices clashing with the sea, merry, untroubled. He notices Merlin's pout, the good-natured shake of his head. Arthur stares back at the ocean. The aquamarine Atlantic. Sunlight glimmering across the waves.

Yes, bewitching sights.


End file.
